


Whittler's Den

by QuietDoe



Series: The Tales of Wick [1]
Category: Wick (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Death, Past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietDoe/pseuds/QuietDoe
Summary: The Weavers before the tragic events.NOTE: This story contains material that may be offensive to race, religion and those with disabilities. This does NOT reflect the author's viewpoint, but merely reflects the time period it is set. This also contains (as Wick fans already know) children's deaths. Be advised before reading.Wick belongs to Hellbent Games. I'm just a big fucking nerd for it.





	Whittler's Den

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Chrome, Akemi and Jokester who are all amazing writers, as well as Beta Readers for this story. Remember to read the Summary before reading.  
> Also, this story is on my Quotev and my FanFiction.net, in which visual effects such as italics emphasise the story a lot better - so check it out!

"Where, O where is Quiet Johnny?

Quiet Johnny can't be saved,

Where, O where is Quiet Johnny?

Quiet Johny, Quiet Grave

 

Johnny was quiet

And odd and grim, 

And odd and grim,

And odd and grim.

None of us do

Ever talk to him,

The cock crows every morning"

American Murder Song - Johnny

 

~~~

 

The yellow bus bustled with restless children. Though it appeared like any other school bus, this one held less children than average. After all, less lived in these parts and only one family lived in the woods themselves. Each child chatty, and many sported different uniforms based on age. The small space echoed with sweet laughter and merry nursery rhymes. As expected, most did not sit correctly. Either facing the wrong way or climbing over one another to stare out the windows for each stop - each friend. Now if a friend entered the bus, they were greeted by name and countless cheers. And the further they sat in the bus, the more pats and compliments they received. But if they weren't liked...

"Ewww! Look! It's Odd Tom!"

"Ew, Odd Tom's coming!"

"I heard that if he gets too close, you'd be crooked just like him!"

"That's gross!"

Creaaaak! The bus doors opened for three young boys, two of them looking near identical, albeit one looking less... 'crooked'. 

"Ah you must be the Weavers!" The driver tipped his hat. You couldn't tell by looking at them, but it was the tall boy at the front that was the 'baby' of the group. The same boy looked nervously to the identical lads accompanying him, then back to the bus driver "Uhhh a-actually... These are my f-friends"

"Sorry about that, boy. Where's your brother and sister?"

"Sick, Sir."

"Aw well you send them my best! Up ya get then" 

The youngest strode in first. His posture immaculate, near perfect. He held his backpack, grinning as he passed. Boys and girls alike greeted him with pats, chanting his name "Caleb, Caleb! Caleb's come to play!" "Heheh, guys..." Such a modest boy. It was no wonder everyone took a shine to him. And he sat near the back too, right hand side, surrounded by those who seemingly worshiped the boy. Caleb's on the bus! Caleb's on the bus!

As for the other two, their presence was near arctic. Opposing the first boy. First was the less 'crooked' boy. His hair was auburn, nearly combed to the side. He too wore the same uniform as Caleb, as did the third boy. His skin a pasty white as though he was a walking cadaver. Each child was shot staggering glares by eyes like rich soil, cradled by unnaturally dark hammocks contrasting his skin. Eye's filled to the brim with unspeakable hatred and venom. Normally, a glare like this was enough. Normally. Briefly, his eyes locked with Caleb's who gave him a look of regret. To the other children, this was just envy. But it was so much more. Painfully more. This boy quickly took a seat on the first row, left side near the window. Then he patted the seat beside him, eyeing the final boy. When he looked to him, it was different. Almost like a new person. From rich soil eyes that threatened to bury you beneath endless hatred, to eyes that glowed with the sweetness of chocolate. That's what love looked like, though his back was turned from most who would never get the luxury of such warmth from him. "Come on Tom, I'm here."

Tom was the crooked boy. The boy who had his own theme song play for him each time he entered the bus.

"There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile, 

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;

He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house."

This echoed repeatedly with taunting laughter blended between lines. Tom looked down in shame. Clutching his backpack tighter, feet frozen at the doorway. He too looked like the second boy, though his hair was unkempt and dark brown. His uniform scruffy - a clear hand-me-down. And his body... God, his poor body! Legs turned inwards, and knees trembled. The right side noticeably shorter than the left. His arms tensed into a pose that mimicked a tyrannosaurus. And a neck that twitched as he hung his head. Poor Tom couldn't look up. 

"There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile,"

He gulped.

"He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;"

The second boys fists clenching.

"He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,"

Tom fought against his own body as his eyes watered.

"And they all lived together

In a 

Crooked

Little

House..."

The second boy jerked up from his seat.

"Alright, alright kids! You've had your fun, now let the poor fella on the bus!" the driver stepped in quickly. Lucky - for the kids. Finally, Tom shuffled onto the bus, sitting next to his look alike. The reason they looked so similar? Twins. Everyone had heard of these twins yet no one knew them. Like a fable or mythical beasts. Surely the boys had to belong somewhere, as no one had ever heard from their family. 'Orphans.' the skeptical said. 'Changelings!' the believers cried! Those boys didn't even look human! After all, no good boy is crippled by God. No. Only a sinner is cursed by the Lord himself! And they say if you befriend a sinner, you'll be cursed too. God will take your legs and tie them to a wooden wheel in the night, before smashing your limbs with a hammer - contortion. These boys were freaks! To the townsfolk, anyways. Tom nodded a 'thank you' to his brother, Tim. That was his name. Tim was someone who could fit in better, had he not stayed with his brother. Arguably, Tim could have friends like Caleb, had he left Tom behind. But that wasn't Tim. Eerily, Caleb somewhat resembled these boys. But not nearly enough to be bunched with them. Not nearly enough to be cursed and bound by blood. 

"Why do you hang around with those freaks anyways, Cal?" Cal could only frown

"D-Don't call them that-"

"Why are you defending them?" another girl.

"They're my friends, OK?"

Caleb shifted in his seat uncomfortably at the questions. One of the few moments the boys confidence would actually waver. Quickly, he tried to avert the attention from the boys. Those poor boys. "Look what Lilli made!" Fwap! Rustling paper could be heard as he pulled out a drawing made by his sister. In the centre, a pink rabbit with button eyes. To it's right, a small story about birds. Such... A cute mix! It made Cal smile anyways. "She made it all by herself! She wanted to show you but she's sick." "Awww" They all cooed simultaneously. "I hope Lil' Lil gets better!" yet another girl. Younger. Most likely one of Lillian's 'real' friends. Whilst distracted, Cal glanced back up at the odd twins, shooting them another apologetic look. This was merely met with Tim's betrayal. However, he'd be in denial if he didn't feel somewhat grateful that Caleb could avert the attention. But he did have to wonder... 'What would they do if they found out who Cal really was...?' Cal too would be shunned. Oh he would be shunned...

~~~

"One plus one is two... Two plus two is four... Four plus four is eight... Eight plus eight is..."

The children chanted in a droning manner. Anyone caught slipping, unresponsive or just too slow caused the classroom to start the chanting again. 

"One plus one is two... Two plus two is four... Four plus four is eight... Eight plus eight is..." On and on it went. One plus one is two... Young boys sat at individual desks, row and column. The more eager to learn sat upright throughout the repetition. Their smiles never wavering. But for the remainder - and much larger portion of the class - many were slumped like wounded soldiers. Heads much too heavy for their little hands. Branded 'braver' children would fidget, divert their eyes and look for any means out of this boredom. These 'braver' children were both heroes and villains alike by their fellow peers. Usually they served as entertainment, though many times they only dragged out the most boring aspects of school. If any child was to tell the truth, it was the punishments that served as the most thrilling and terrifying - provided it wasn't them. A sadistic streak most of them held dear. Unspoken, yet existing.

A few 'onlookers' would shuffle in their chairs, creating small squeaks as they scoped the classroom. In one sense, they were school 'guardians'. Each of these lads took the 'law' into their own hands - in different ways. Some would outright scold another boy in class but many were covert enough to keep that in the playground. Covert ones knew of the punishments that would follow. Arguably, the coverts were downright smarter. Or at the very least more careful. Finally, the chanting ceased, and the real lesson began. Today's lesson was conducted by Brother Daniel. One of the younger teachers but still not necessarily youthful. He was rather short for a man at 5"5. His expression rough and rugged but he was by no means unfriendly. 'Misguided' and although a teacher, he was still willing to protect weaker students. Nearly all the teachers pushed on the ideal that those who suffered the most were sent by God. Or lost sheep in need of saving. They were quick to teach 'Jesus died for us'.

Amongst the boys were the unusual twins. As expected, they were sat side by side, desks located on the third row to the right. Cal was absent from this particular room. Tom kept his head down for the most part. His head would occasionally bobble with his neck making a barely audible but sickening crack. Beneath his desk, he fumbled with his fingers. He daren't look up in fear of locking eyes with anyone - onlookers and bravers especially! To the teachers they were just children. To fellow students, each was a wolf fighting for survival and dominance. Something often overlooked. When Tom did look up it was limited to two directions - Tim and teacher. He swallowed a hard lump at the thought. The thought of being caught by anyone else.

"I'm here, Tom" Tim whispered reassuringly. Risky, but worth it as he earned the coy smile of his brother. He returned another sheepish one.

"Tom!" Poor boy jerked up out of his skin! "What is eight plus three?" Eight plus three... Eight plus three...

"Uh um uhhh..." Eleven! His mind screamed. Just say 'eleven'! Gulp! "E-E-E-"

"Ewwww, I think it's choking!" The class broke out into malicious giggles. Tim clenched his fists, turning his knuckles white. They were lucky the teacher stood between them.

"Robert!" Sir scolded, focusing back on Tom with a sympathetic look. "Go on, Tom." he softly encouraged. 'Yes Tom, go on' his thoughts mimicked mockingly. E-E-E-

"E-Eleven..." he croaked.

You could hear a pin drop.

"E-E-E-Eleven!" Robert squawked

"ROBERT! Come to the front immediately!" Oh dear. He'd done it now! Poor little Robert had gone too far. Robert was almost notorious for this. Yet none of the boys could truly adapt to seeing someone their age be punished in such a way. His cocky demeanour melted as he slowly made his way to the front. He walked the mile for all to see. If anyone dare made a peep now... they too would suffer. So each boy froze in his seat, forcing each breath. Even the tormented Tom held his head down in sorrow. He never meant for this to happen! Tim too, tilted his head down, peering up to watch everything. Carefully, he angled his face to conceal the morbid smirk that had formed. He was going to relish each punishment given to the boys that dared mess with Tom! No one messes with Tom! No one! Robert kneeled before them. Before each beating came a prayer of forgiveness. Wash away his sins that made him such a vindictive little beast! The prayers continued and sped up with each recital. And he cried. God, did he cry! Each whimper was a choir in itself broken only by a riveting CRACK! His holy pleads of forgiveness made it easy to forget the Robert they once knew. After all, they all looked the same, praying to God. Daniel's merciful glance now gone. Only fire in it's wake. The ashes that promised to cleanse the soul! Poor Robert's hand bled profoundly this time. Each boy watched powerlessly. No wonder each boy took God's teaching into their own hands.

Lunch time arrived and Cal was still no where to be seen despite arriving on the bus together. He was not ill and certainly didn't go home early. Even Tom - who was more ill - could even attend. So where did he go? Knowing Cal, he was more than likely playing teachers pet somewhere. First, the boys ate quietly in the hall after saying grace. As usual, it was bread and pea soup. Afterwards, it was out to play for an hour. 

Some boys chased each other. Others kicked empty soup cans that the school 'kindly donated'. Some played jacks whilst others played 'Blind Man's Bluff'. Except Tim and Tom. Instead, they looked on at the various activities longingly. Often boys would make the games harder for them, cheat or outright refuse to let them join. Tom sighed.

"Y-You can go and play if you want to, Tim." he croaked. Tim only shook his head. Seeing his own brother shunned because of him... Hurt. Badly. Like when he was kicked in the stomach, badly. Tom couldn't wrap his head around as to why Tim even put himself through this. Why for him? He was pathetic! A liability. If he hadn't been born, maybe... Just maybe Tim could finally have friends. 'But he's stuck with me...'

"Their games don't interest me." He replied softly, though his eyes seemed to not pry away from the sight of play. Tom sighed again. Tim was a good liar, just not to him. He watched how his brother's eyes lit up as games got intense. How his fingers sometimes twitched and how his lips forced themselves not to smile and laugh. Tim always denied the child in himself. For him. It almost made him sick in a sort of endearing manner. "You know I can't keep up with them anyways..." 

"... Why don't we play something?" Tom tilted his head curiously. This... Was a first. "We don't need them. We have each other." Tom's eyes lit up. Could they... Really play? At school!? His heart thumped at this. A chance to be like other boys! He grinned. He grinned ever so brightly! A smile that even Tim had to earn. But how rewarding it felt to see.

"E-E-E-El-Eleven-!" Robert. Kill joy. Honestly, Tim wanted to kill him for joy. 

"Go away, Robert" Tim hissed.

"Go away, Robert" He mimicked teasingly. "You're ugly brother got me in trouble!"

"No. You got yourself in trouble because you don't know how to shut up."

"Are you trying to pick a fight?" Ugh. Empty threats again. But this time, Tim couldn't hold back.

"What if I am?" He took a step closer.

"You can't fight, Tim! You can't even run!" He laughed before collapsing on the floor, wheezing and gagging. Any boy who overheard quickly rushed over to see the commotion. From the outside, Robert behaved as though he was attacked. Preyed on by the morbid twins! Playing on this, he crawled over to the observers. The onlookers. The bravers. Wheezing. Coughing. "I'm Tiiiim. Every time I run, I can't breathe! Running makes me cry. I'm useless like my deformed brother!" Laughter. Raw laughter. Sickening how they took amusement in this. Robert would frequently climb other boy's legs before flopping on the floor comically. Like a dying fish. He would wriggle and writhe. Kick and claw at his throat. Contort his limbs in unnatural ways.

And every boy laughed. 

Tim could hear the blood rushing in his ears and his stomach knot painfully. His eyes pricked with water. His breathing hitched, alerting Tom to his state. Tom saw how his fists clenched so tight that the skin battled between being rosy and white. How his nurturing smile had twisted into a fowl scowl. How his body tremored like his baby rattle hidden deep within his bag. His rattle... His comfort. It's soft scratching that soothed his soul. Kept him calm. He could hear it now. Then it really hit him. Snapping his head in the direction of the noise, Robert held the toy up as though he ripped it out of stone. Triumph! Pride! "Baby! Baby! Baby!" He chimed 

"Baby! Baby! Baby!" Each boy replied.

"I knew he was a freak!"

"Be careful Robby! Don't catch deformity!"

"Baby! Baby! Baby!" 

"Baby! Baby! Baby!" 

"Baby! Baby! Baby!" 

"Baby! Baby! Baby!" 

SMACK!

Tom was thrown back, his bones popping painfully. Dazed, he watched as his brother made the first move. A left hook. Square into Robert's jaw! The crunch was accompanied by a blend of screams and cheer as both boys rolled onto the floor. Tim was on top. Robert was on top. Tim was on top. Robert was on top. Each boys hair yanked viciously. Each cheek shoved into the gravel. Each punch hitting it's target. Robert could defend himself yet he was screaming frightfully and flailing. Tim ripped into him like a rabid dog. Wheezing, just as predicted. Both boys bruised and bleeding. Tom shuffled into a ball, trembling. Whimpering and praying. 'Please keep him safe! Please keep him safe!' But the crowd was in uproar! From instigator, Tim was soon pinned to the floor with three more boys kicking his fragile back and stomach. Tim too curled into a ball, but his determination was unwavering! He'd rather him than Tom, and it seemed to be working. Tom averted his eyes, keeping them tightly shut. Eyelids twitching and mouth watering. But God, did it hurt to swallow! 

"ENOUGH!" Brother Daniel.

Scoop! He dragged up both boys - one in each hand. Witnesses fled rapidly. It was over. But poor Tom's ears still rung heavily. Vision blurred from the tears. Then there he saw it. Robert bruised and his brother beaten, held on opposing side's like the scale of justice. And... The rattle! Tim was holding his rattle! Tom's lips twitched into a meek smile. He did it... For him...

Such a liability.

~~~~

"Timas!" Papa roared aggressively. "Outside - NOW!" That was the last Tom saw of his brother that night. "Papa please, it was my fault!" again, his voice cracked. Helplessly, he watched as Tim was dragged by his scrawny arm outside. He could only follow so far before the shed door blocked his sight. In one sense, the door was the only thing protecting him. The thin wooden door... Not nearly enough to shut out the snapping of a leather belt on soft skin. Or the howls of agony his brother made. Not even the threats his father made to silence the screaming boy. His stomach twitched and groaned. His head shrieked. Then collapsing on the floor, his stomach finally surrendered. 

Where was Caleb when they needed him? Why... Didn't he save them? Caleb did the only thing he could that night, and put the two to bed early. It was the least he could offer. And it ate away at his psyche.


End file.
